DA- What Thy Many Red Eyes See
by N7PhoenixFox
Summary: He saw her in the Fade, only months before he had awoken. And it was not at all what he expected. A new take on Fen'Harel and Lavellan. M - for very slight gore. Just to be sure.


Part of my 500-1000 word (minimal) short stories I've challenged myself to do.

An idea came to my head when I was attempting to make an inquisition character that I could really invest myself in. I've got a warden and Hawke who mean a lot to me, and I want that again with the third came. Then this came to me, as I used pictures and concept arts to create a character who has begun to stick in my mind.

He saw her in the Fade, only months before he had awoken. And it was not at all what he expected.

-–-

Rooftops flew by, as the trees would when a halla pounded it's hooves over the leaf littered floors of the forests.

White stone made up the buildings. Tall, with many coloured drapes hanging from metal points, balconies and windows.

It was night. The darkened sky almost purple in its inky darkened swirls. The streets were lit below with fire, lanterns hung from posts.

A shadow moved upon the tiled roof in his vision, he saw it from the corner of his eye. His eyes trailed it, and the wolf inside him, the one who begged for knowledge, ever curious egged him on.

Within the fade, he could only manipulate so much. But he was able to step out into the air, floating above the ground to catch a glimpse of what made such a shadow.

His hair hung thick down his back, robes of white, gold and black adorned his body. A fragment of what he had once appeared as, centuries ago. He wondered, briefly, why his mind had returned to that that time. Instead of the black furred wolf with many eyes.

He shook his head, the wolfs skull upon the top of it jingled slightly, along with his metal beaded braids. It mattered little what his body looked like, as long as he was able to hunt the shadow which had caught his curiosity.

It moved, fast as a humming bird in the soft tones of spring. No, not quite. It was certainly not a delicate thing as it dropped down to a lower roof, holding itself with gripped shoes and grasping fingers before it could plummet of the edge.

Perhaps a moth, one who was drawn to the lights and colours of the decorated streets around it. But then, no, a moth would die from a brush of its wings. He did no see this shadow falling, tumbling from something so simple as the brush of a finger upon its skin.

His brows drew down over his eyes. It was no often that he was stumped, stumbling for words and yet he could not think of what the shadow reminded him off.

He stepped, bare feet upon a bridge of invisible glass, towards the thing which caused him such frustration. The beast inside paced, impatient, it wanted to know. To see, and discover the thing which kept it in the dark.

Though he reined over it, he did not like the dark very much.

It moved again, this time setting off into a run which had him curse under his breath. Moulding the fade as best he could, he followed after the shadow as it raced over the stones. Leaping from one roof to another, never breaking its stride even as one wrong move would end up with its end. A long fall to which a mortal would not survive.

The tails and folds of his robes flew behind him as he moved after it. A shadow, who looked much similar to a being, a person in leather clothes. Skin tight, while the face was obscured by a hood of thick, dark and heavy material.

When it stopped, he paused beside it, landing on the roof slight higher than where it perched, lent on a tower of stone which rose around a court yard.

His eyes moved from the suddenly still frame to the commotion below. There were waves of colour, the clothes of the humans mixed till he could see nothing but glimpses of features amongst a sea of cloth.

A sound, a cry, reached his pointed ears. His cerulean blue eyes lifted further, landing on a raised platform. A woman stood upon it, tears streaked down her face and her limbs shook where they were bound. He would have looked away, focused on the shadow once more had it not been for the ears he caught breaking through the golden locks.

He squinted his eyes, dark, warm brows creased over his nose. Strange that the woman's ears round as a humans would until the very top, where there was an odd point.

He bared his teeth. A half-ling. When the shadow shifted, distracting him from his rage, from the regrets of the past, he saw something dark in its hands.

A bow. One of Elven make. He could tell by the grooves in the darkened wood, despite the black paint to keep it camouflaged. The lines of age, and the curve of the limbs were somewhat familiar to him. A pang of deep, aching loneliness bit at him and his mind once flooded again with images of what he had done to his People.

When the shadow conjured an arrow from the fade itself, he realised why he had not seen the weapon before. It was a memory, he must remind himself, of things which had come and gone. He was not in the waking world.

The arrow notched, he bent low, almost feeling the cool tiles beneath his feet, where his toed bunched to grip in his position. He watched the shadow carefully, his head cocked to one side, his many figurative eyes focused on discovering who or what was behind the mask.

When the fog cleared, his heart which he thought dead in his chest stuttered slightly. Eyes of amethyst shocked him to his rotten core. In the centre was a burst of warm orange, or was it another form of purple? The colours crashed into one another he could barely pinpoint it.

As he attempted to collect his breath, which he did not necessarily need to do within the fade, and his deep sleep, she let loose the dark arrow.

His gaze shot after it. Finding it whizzed through the air, penetrating the executioner in his throat. Blood sprayed, a fan of it into the crowd.

Cries rang up, but the shadow did not cease its movements. Another arrow set, the shadow released it, allowing it to fly into the crowd. It connected with the stoned ground, standing upright within a crack.

Now he truely was confused. It was as if the shadow had aimed for nothing. What would be the point?

But then he saw, the crowd panicked and the authorises could not break through the reach the woman. He strained to see the half-ling, and saw someone of a struggle as she was dragged from the stage.

Shouts rang out. Men had climbed the walls, rushing for where the shadow hid. An arrow from one of the guards landed in the tiles by his feet. It speared one of his silk pieces. He tore the material from it, and though he would not be harmed, his mind still played tricked upon him.

The wolf inside huffed. A noise which sounded far too much like a smug chortle. He let out a hissed breath, standing and turning sharply to find the shadow gone.

His eyes widened, and then he looked to the edge behind the roof. He bent his head with determination, floating off and downwards as he searched the alleyways.

He grew increasingly frustrated, a low growl ripping beneath his chest, echoed through his throat as he searched, and searched.

When he came upon a group down one of the tunnels which laid between the walls of the buildings, he stopped. He concentrated a moment, then felt his heart start as he recognised the eyes of precious jewels.

As he neared, lowering himself further so that he may walk upon the ground, he found he ached to get a better look. He walked over puddles and filth but it did not touch his skin, did not stain and taint it.

A woman. He froze, almost instantly as if an ice spell had encrusted his entire body.

The shadow was a woman. Dark, tanned skin, with hair that he could not truly tell the colour of within the moonlight. The fade would not show him the truth, or perhaps he was simply not able to see it, as a punishment, he found he wanted deeply to know the colour of the locks.

Vallaslin curved over her cheek bones. Pale in colour against her skin. He started again. What were the watered down version of his People called?

Oh yes, Dalish.

He sneered, but then as her voice drifted to his ears, he found it slip from his face.

"Have you secured her?"

"Yes," one of the hooded figured replied.

"Good," his shadow answered, with a quick nod. "Get her out of the city. Here," she lifted a small pouch. "Give this to her, so that she may make herself a new life. Elsewhere, where she is not sentenced to death for her heritage."

Another of the hooded figures took what he presumed was money, coin, some sort of currency. He found he did not like not knowing what they used in this modern time.

"Where did a Dalish get all of this?" He couldn't be sure, but he thought there was a chuckle from the group.

He bared his teeth once more. Who were these people? Who was this woman? And why would she go to such lengths to save the half-ling?

The beast demanded answers, though it gnashed it's teeth at its cage. Neither of them would learn more than the fade would allow them.

Perhaps it was time he woke.

The woman broke through his thoughts, his head snapped to her once more as he remained in the darkness of the alley.

"Don't you know the tales of us Dalish?" Her voice was rough, void of any emotion, or she hid it well. "We kidnap, steal and murder in cold blood."

The other laughed again, but with a hint of fear within their tones.

His curiosity neared tore him from the inside out as he yearned to know more, to understand.

Wisdom had warned him that too much knowledge could turn to pride, and pride was dangerous.

He it appeared the fade would show him no more. The scene around him melted, a disturbing sight which still had him grimace, despite being used to it.

He reached out with a pale hand towards the woman, just as her image slid away. The memories poured over his hand like ripples of paint before it vanished after a blink.

He stood alone, in the distortion of core fade.

He did not know why, but the memory, the woman, had made him feel as if he had slept too long. He had not much been inclined to wake, to a world which was not his. Which had no shining buildings of magic and air.

Now he was angry. At himself, at the world, at the woman. He wanted to live, he thirsted for it. Just as he had during he wars which rose the Evanuris to their pedestals.

The beast hungered for him to survive, for him to wake in his body once more.

He needed to focus, it was not such an easy task to find the string which lead to his body, as so much time had passed, even for him.

When his hands grasped the threads, he closed his eyes, breathed deeply and let out a roar above his shoulders.

He would wake, and he would survive. Even if it meant devouring the world.

-–-

So, what does everyone think? Kind of nervous for reviews as this was some of the best writing I've managed in a long time, I feel.

There could perhaps be more...I have a few ideas. But it depends on the response, of course.

Also, while you are here, please check out the link to my freelancing page on the profile if you are interested in my art, cosplay and commissions.

And note: Solas/Fen'Harel might seem out of character here but I was attempting to go with the flow, and kind of make my own version of what he was like before he settled in the mask of a wanderer hermit.


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